Enigma
by Drink Sparky Cola
Summary: Banks and Delahoy grapple with each other in the wake of Delahoy's secret being revealed. Rated for one swear.


**Enigma**

By Kara

_I haven't pumped out a fic for a show this fast since The Black Donnelly's. Come to think of it, I think that was the last fic I even finished, and that was two years ago. Normally I'd say it's a good sign that a show inspires me to actually finish something, but the sad truth is I don't expect this show to last that long. I just hope the subject of this fic comes to light in the TV show before it gets cancelled. I know, I'm such a doomsayer, but I'm cursed when it comes to TV, I tell you! Make everybody you know watch this show so it can survive!_

_This is my attempt to rationalize what is undoubtedly the best partnership on the show. I know we haven't seen much of it yet, and I'm sure more layers will be revealed, but this is based only on what we know from the first four episodes._

_P.S. Kudos to anyone who catches my geeky reference to another TV show. :)_

Eric Delahoy steadied himself against the wall of the bathroom stall as another wave of dizziness hit him, sinking his forehead against the cool, dirty tile and squeezing his eyes shut to drown out the stabbing pain in his temples. The nausea and imbalance gave him the sensation of drunkenness but the pain was worse than any hangover he'd ever experienced (and he had experienced quite a few), and it had come on so suddenly, that it took all he had to excuse himself from the table where he and his partner were eating lunch and stagger to the restroom without falling down.

The detective breathed in and out steadily for a few minutes until the pain the nausea subsided, finally, and cautiously opened his eyes. Even the dim lighting in the Mexican restaurant's tiny, two-stall bathroom assaulted his senses and he blinked a few times to clear his head before exiting the stall. Glancing at himself in the mirror, Delahoy realized he looked unwell, and splashed some cool water on his face from the sink before returning to the dining room.

Leo Banks was sitting at their table still, looking impatient but he squinted as his partner neared him. "You alright?"

_No_, Delahoy thought dully, but replied simply, "Next time remind me not to get the chicken burrito, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Banks wrinkled his forehead. "You're disgusting. And don't think for a minute that your convenient bathroom break means your getting out of your half of the bill."

"Relax, _sweetheart_, I'm good for it," Delahoy said, plucking the bill from Banks' hands. "I'll even pick up the whole tab if it means you'll stop nagging me." Once the bill was paid, the detectives returned to their squad car parked out front, and had barely left the restaurant when a commotion broke out further up the street. Out of instinct or paranoia, Banks pulled his gun, but the situation was beyond weapons as an out of control driver took the turn onto the crowded street at a whopping sixty, weaving in and out of traffic in what was probably a stolen car.

Banks steadied his gun and fired a few warning shots at the tires but his shots didn't hit their target and the driver, realizing the threat, suddenly jerked the wheel to the right onto the sidewalk, heading directly for the detective who had fired on him. Banks froze, unable to find a quick escape and squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the impact. It was funny, he thought, despite all his paranoia, this morning was the first in weeks he'd woken up without thinking that he was going to die today.

o-o-o-o-o

Dr. Rutledge surveyed the results of the CAT scan for the umpteenth time, still doubting what he saw there plain as day but it was unmistakable; the test results didn't lie. He sighed and picked up the patient's chart. "Well, I'm not relishing what I have to do next."

"What is it, doctor?" The tech, some intern he didn't know the name of, looked up at his superior inquisitively.

"Now I have to go talk to his partner. On top of everything else he'll be going through, to have to deal with this…" Rutledge shook his head and left the room. He walked slowly down the hall towards the waiting area, not surprised to see his patient's partner had been joined by several other detectives from the second precinct. The veritable band of brothers all looked his way expectantly when he entered the room, but Rutledge addressed only the one who was curiously clad in a bulletproof vest, worn over his regular clothes.

"Detective Banks?"

Leo Banks stood abruptly the moment his name was called. "Doc, how is he? Is he alright? Can I go see him?"

Rutledge took the barrage of questions in stride. "Relax, I'm sure you're all anxious to hear that Detective Delahoy is going to be fine." The weight that was lifted from the room was noticeable, and Banks' shoulders sagged visibly. It had been three hours since he'd faced down a criminal wielding a Mercedes Benz and was pushed out of the way at the last minute by his partner, who took the full brunt of the accident. The driver got away and Banks, dazed and still unsure of what had happened because it had happened so fast, picked himself up off the pavement and rushed to his fallen partner's side. He wasn't really clear on the details from that point, but someone must have called an ambulance because Banks was in no state of mind to do so himself.

"He's got a broken leg, some busted ribs, and a pretty severe concussion," Rutledge told the detectives. "We're keeping him for a few days, so the rest of you can visit him later, because I'm only allowing one visitor in tonight."

There was no question that the one visitor would be Banks, so the others stood to say goodbye.

"Tell him we're all here for him," Casey Shraeger said, patting Banks on the arm. "And we're gonna find the driver and put some harm on him!" She smiled half-heartedly, pumping her fist a little with her declaration of pain that Banks couldn't help but find more cute than intimidating. Jason Walsh rolled his eyes at his partner's inimitable spunk but said nothing as he passed, clapping Banks on the back supportively.

"I told you Jesus was taking care of everything," Henry Cole beamed, as his partner tugged on his arm.

"Come on partner, we've got paperwork waiting for us." Allison Beaumont gave Banks a reassuring smile and they followed after the other detectives. "We'll let Sarge know he's alright," she called over her shoulder.

Alone with the surgeon, Banks became anxious, and the barrage began all over again. "What room is he in? Has he woken up?"

Rutledge faltered, and put a hand out to stop Banks from barreling past him. "He hasn't woken up yet, but he should soon. There's something else I think you should know; I didn't want to discuss the… full extent of Eric's condition in front of the others. I'm not even sure I should be telling you, but you're the only person listed under his emergency contacts, so…"

Banks' heart sank to his knees, an all too familiar feeling today. "What is it, Doc?"

"I'm afraid Eric has a brain tumor."

Banks froze, everything in his surroundings drowned out, barely aware that Rutledge was waiting for a response. "A—a what? What did you say?"

"Well, with the concussion, we thought it best to perform a CAT scan to see if there was any further damage as a result of the accident and we uncovered a small mass. I know this may come as somewhat of a shock to you."

"Oh… yeah," Banks said dazedly.

"The good news is that while it is somewhat advanced, it's not entirely untreatable. I think we should run some tests—"

"Can I see him now?" Banks interrupted, and Rutledge hesitated, nodded, and pointed down the hall, directing the detective to the third door on the left. In a stupor, Banks stumbled down the hall until he found himself face to face with his partner's room.

The sign on the door: Room 42.

Banks glared at the sign then past it into the room where his partner lay, eyes closed. "Lord are you _trying_ to kill me?" he murmured to the heavens, but he swallowed, pushed his fear back down, and stepped into the room. _You're just being silly_, he told himself. _There are much bigger things to worry about right now…_

Still at a loss for words, Banks walked calmly over to Delahoy's bed, sat down in the empty chair, and stared silently at his unconscious partner. His face was scraped up on one side from his collision with the pavement and his right leg was elevated, encased entirely in plaster from the thigh down. The rest of the injuries were hidden by the light blue patient's gown. Banks turned away, staring at the wall until the levee finally broke.

"You stupid asshole! You just _had_ to jump in front of a speeding vehicle, didn't you? You know, it was only a matter of time before all those crazy risks you've been taking caught up with you." And here Banks thought his partner was dialing down the crazy lately. "And now I come to find out you were SERIOUS about that brain tumor thing?! What the hell is wrong with you, you crazy idiot!"

"Saved your ass," came the mumbled reply Banks wasn't expecting and the detective's head snapped to his left.

"What was that?"

Eric Delahoy's eyes opened slowly and he grimaced at the light, shutting them again. "I said, 'I saved your ass.'"

Banks wanted to yell, but at his partner's pained expression, he softened. "Yeah. Yeah, you did. Thanks," the detective sighed, massaging his temples. "Eric, why the hell didn't you tell me you were serious about your condition?"

Delahoy looked away uncomfortably. "I didn't want to bother anyone. And I especially didn't want anyone's pity."

"Are you serious?! I mean, really, the amount of whining I do day in and day out about my family curse, and you're embarrassed to mention that you're _actually_ in danger of dropping dead any day now?" There was no reply and Delahoy wouldn't meet his gaze. "And is THIS why you've been acting so, so—unhinged lately? Jumping off roofs, facing down subway trains and dudes with swords—do you want something else to take you out before this tumor does?"

"Maybe… I don't know," Delahoy answered honestly.

"It's actually a good thing that that Benz took you out today or else I may never have found out what was going on until you dropped dead. You were lucky, Eric."

"Yeah, that's what everyone keeps saying," Delahoy murmured.

"And how could I have been so stupid as to not notice this! I mean, I should be looking out for you. I must be the most selfish person on Earth for God's sake."

"No, you're not," Delahoy tried to reassure him. "You've got your own worries; I didn't want anyone to know. And I still don't want you to know. It's my problem, and I can deal with it."

Banks jumped to his feet, unable to stay seated in his impatience. "What is this? What is with this 'masculine stoicism' bit you've got here? I've heard of guys hiding their pain and smothering their feelings. I'm a guy too, I get it, but this is taking it a bit too far, isn't it?" Banks was getting angry now, and he knew it showed in his tone. He didn't _want_ to be angry but he couldn't help it; the thought of his partner calmly marching towards a cold fate made no sense to him, and the confusion and helplessness made him livid. He needed to steer his partner in a new direction. "I don't know what the other doctors have told you, or if you've even talked to anyone about it, but this guy says it's totally possible to fix it. Don't you want that? Don't you want to get better?"

The only sound in the room was the beeping of the machine until Delahoy's quiet confession, "What for?"

"What do you mean 'what for'? You're kinda scaring me here, Eric."

"What I mean is why should I look forward to my life? What do I have to fight for? I'm pushing forty, I'm alone, and I always have been. No girlfriend or kids, I don't even have a pet waiting for me at home. And at work—" Delahoy scoffed. "What kind of cases do we get, Leo? Cat killers and missing dead geezers—is that what you thought you'd be doing after eight years as a detective? I've been struggling my whole life to make ends meet in a job that has zero respect for me, and what do I get for my troubles? A fuckin' brain tumor." Despite his best efforts, despite ever nerve in his body warning him not to, Eric Delahoy could not stop the tears born of desperation and fatigue from forming in his eyes. "I did everything I was ever told my whole life, I lived right. Why am I being punished?"

Banks looked down into his friend's pleading eyes, trying to muster an appropriate response while simultaneously trying to rationalize his partner's psyche. All he could come up with for either was a bewildered shrug and a spoken confession, "I don't know… but you're not alone, Eric." He needed him to see, to believe, that there were people who cared about his life, even if he didn't care himself. "I don't want you to die."

"Everybody dies," Delahoy countered, the all too familiar phrase of late slipping out much more easily than the tears.

"Not like you're trying to die."

"You wouldn't understand," Delahoy looked away again. "I can't stand the thought of wasting away. My father lived for fifty years as a number in the system at a thankless job before cancer eventually wiped him out. He was a good man, but no one will ever remember him for that. History forgot about him like it'll forget about me. I want to do something worth remembering, even if it's the last thing I do."

"Oh, so you'd like to be remembered forever as the guy squished by the number 5 subway train?"

"I know it sounds stupid," Delahoy answered, leaving the addendum 'Beats the alternative' unspoken.

"You're damn right it sounds stupid!" Delahoy jumped at his partner's response. "I mean, seriously, man! Some people would kill to have the fighting chance that you do! And I am NOT going to sit by and watch you kill yourself—by Benz or by tumor." Banks was getting worked up again but he couldn't stop himself. Before he knew it and before his brain had a chance to protest he was ripping off the Kevlar vest and plopping it down on the lap of a surprised Delahoy. The injured detective looked shockingly at the vest then up at his partner. "If you're not going to fight for yourself… then I'll help."

A silent moment passed between the partners, the ball firmly in Delahoy's court until he finally shifted uncomfortably and relented. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll do the surgery."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I will. Just—just put the vest back on, will ya? You're freaking me out a little."

"Yeah, me too," Banks admitted, eagerly taking up the vest again. "Let's just… get this back on. Feel kinda naked without it." Banks grinned cheekily.

"You're so weird." Delahoy squinted, shaking his head.

"Oh, really? You're one to talk Mr. Suicidal-Secret-Brain-Tumor guy! So are you done with all this, now? No more going one on one with a double barrel shotgun or jumping in front of moving vehicles?"

"Only if you aren't standing in front of them first like a deer in headlights."

"Believe me, that is _not_ a place I want to be ever again."

Silence reigned for a few moments as Banks took his seat next to the bed again and Delahoy lay back on the white sheets, staring up at the ceiling contemplatively. Finally he sighed, his tone solemn, and said, "I don't want to die, Leo. I'm… scared to die." Banks knew it was hard to say so he allowed Delahoy to continue. "I would just rather choose how I go than let something unseen take me out. Does that make any sense whatsoever? If I have to die, I want it to be on my own terms."

"You don't _have_ to die. I'll be here with you the whole way, I promise. You'll get through this man. You hear me?"

"Yeah," Delahoy wiped at the corners of his eyes with the heels of his hands, avoiding eye contact. In truth, it made both men embarrassed to be having a conversation of this ilk, letting all their emotions hang out, as it was, but some things just had to be said. "Yeah, I hear ya."

"And listen," Banks brightened, trying to inject some relief into the conversation. "When you get out of here, I'll come visit you every day while you recover. Maybe I'll even get you a dog or a cat, whatever you want."

"My apartment doesn't allow pets," Delahoy answered, still rubbing his eyes.

"That's okay, it's cool. We'll get you a fish instead. A nice big goldfish, you can name him Buddy, teach him to roll over."

Delahoy smiled, the first genuine smile Banks remembered seeing on his partner's face in some months. He couldn't help but look at Eric Delahoy differently now, in light of this startling revelation. He couldn't believe after eight years of spending almost every day with the man, new sides of him could still be revealed. So much of his erratic behavior of the past few months made sense now. It took Banks far too long to catch on, but he was in it now and in it for good. Leo Banks had lost far too many family members to lose one he could actually save.

Banks hesitated then asked the question that was on his mind. "So, when are we telling Sarge?"

"We're not," Delahoy answered quickly. "If you say anything I'll kill you before that curse does."

"Alright," Banks replied, patting Delahoy's knee patronizingly. "Baby steps."


End file.
